


Protecting Gabriel

by loverose14impala



Series: Protecting the Winchesters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Love Story, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6870976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverose14impala/pseuds/loverose14impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to Protecting the Winchesters.  Gabriel returns, attempting to repair his relationship with Emily, but her brothers have an unfortunate tendency of getting in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This fanfiction is part two of _Protecting the Winchesters_. If you have not read the original fanfiction, do so before you continue, as you will not be able to understand several of the plot points without the prior knowledge provided in _Protecting the Winchesters_.

Thank you :)

~loverose14impala


	2. Chapter 2

When she finally regained consciousness, the first thing she became aware off was the light streaming through the window and the comfortable warmth of the room.   Then it was the intense pressure on her right hand.  Moving her head sent a wave of pain down her neck, but she was now able to see that a large hand was squeezing her fingers as if she was the last chance at life.  Her eyes followed the desperate hand up its arm to an anxious and passed out Dean Winchester, drooling on her blanket.  He was half sitting in a chair, half uncomfortably leaning on the bed where she was carefully tucked beneath the sheets. 

The tingling in her fingers becoming uncomfortable, she squeezed his over-large fingers, trying to rouse the older Winchester.  “Dean.”  The scratching in her throat brought tears to her eyes, but Dean began to stir against the blanket, raising his head to blurrily blink at Emily. 

He looked, frankly, awful, as if he hadn’t slept in several weeks, living off only coffee and whatever someone force-fed him.  As her open eyes registered in his mind, he quietly asked, “Em?” as if he distrusted what he saw before him. 

She smiled, instantly regretting the decision as her cracked lips immediately split in several places.  A shaking pile of emotional Winchester was above her in a second, as Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck.  Her hand weakly stroked his hair as he cried into her shoulder. 

As he began to calm down, the dehydration became incessant, and she croaked out, “Water?” blinking away the sudden tears at the pain. 

Dean was off her in an instant, fumbling for the full glass on the bedside table while hastily wiping at his eyes.  She tried to sit up, but tensing the muscles in her abdomen sent a wave of pain through her body.  Dean was immediately pushing her back into the mattress, alleviating the pressure on her wound.  “Don’t move, princess,” his voice broke. 

He slowly piled up the pillows behind her back so that she was elevated, but putting no strain on her abdominal muscles.  Her wings were spread out beneath the covers as well, and he was careful to avoid them as he stacked the pillows.  “Here,” he muttered, carefully bringing the glass to her lips.  As soon as the first drop hit her tongue, she desperately wanted to drain the entire glass, but Dean held back, only giving her a little at a time, allowing her stomach to adjust. 

When half the glass was gone, he put it back on the bedside table before moving to sit by her on the bed.  “What happened?”  Her voice was barely a whisper, but the burn in her throat had faded. 

“You, uh…you tried to be the friggin’ hero.  I…I almost lost you, princess,” he wouldn’t meet her eyes, but his hand found hers on the blankets. 

“How-how long’s it been?”

He audibly swallowed, squeezing her hand gently.  “Three and a half days.  Gabriel…he…”

“That was real?”  Their eyes met, and Dean could see the tiny shreds of hope in her gaze. 

“Yeah,” he breathed.  “He’s in the kitchen.”

“He’s still here?” 

Dean frowned, watching her eyes widen, wondering why that fact had taken her by surprise.  “Of course he’s still here, princess.”

The bedroom door opened with a quiet creak, and Sam ducked in, attempting not to wake Dean.  When he looked up, his breath caught in his throat, and the glass he was holding shattered against the floor.  “E-Em?” his voice cracked. 

“Hey, Sammy,” she whispered.

In an instant, the second overgrown mass of emotional Winchester was hugging her, more tightly than she would have liked, but she weakly embraced him, running her fingers through his hair.  The door was suddenly thrown open, and, as a frantic Bobby glanced from the shattered glass to the scene before him, his posture immediately softened. 

“Bobby,” she muttered into Sam’s shoulder.  Sam stood up, though still looming above her as though he was frightened that she would disappear if he left her side. 

“Hey, kid,” the older man muttered, carefully moving towards the bed, ignoring the pile of glass on the floor. 

“How’s the bite?” she asked, eyeing the neatly wrapped gauze on Bobby’s upper arm. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he immediately replied, giving her a reassuring smile.  “How ‘ya feeling?”

“Well, I’m alive, so already better than I expected,” she tried to joke, but she could feel the tension in the room immediately grow.  “Guys, I’m serious.  Give me a week or two, and I’ll be back to kicking your ass across the country.”

Sam shot her a watery smile, the mop of his hair falling in his eyes.  “Sam, your shoulder–”

“Don’t worry, Dean popped it back in.  And his head’s fine, too.  Apparently, he has a thick skull, but that’s something we already knew.”

She laughed lightly, only to cringe in pain a moment later.  “Easy, tiger,” Dean lightly pushed against her shoulder, getting her to relax against the pillows. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, weakly brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Don’t apologize,” Bobby said immediately, comfortingly placing a hand on her covered foot.  “Not your fault.”

She nodded, taking a breath.  After a moment, Sam hesitantly spoke up, “Em?  Uh…Gabriel’s in the kitchen, but, uh, he’s not sure that you want to see him.”

Her eyebrows immediately pulled together as she looked up at him.  “Why?”

Dean cleared his throat.  “That…that may be my fault.”

Ignoring the pain in her neck, she moved to glare at him.  “What did you do?”

Dean opened his mouth a few times, attempting to find the right words before Bobby cut in.  “Let’s not bother you with the gory details, but Dean mostly blamed him for your situation.  Can’t say that I disagree with him, but Dean may have taken it a bit too far, all things considered.”

“All things considered–” Dean growled before Emily cut him off. 

“ _Dean_.  I’m alive, and I’m fine.  Leave him alone.” 

Even in her weakened state, Dean froze beneath her menacing gaze, and all rebuke died on his tongue.  “Fine.”

“A-aparently,” Sam hesitantly began again, “you’ve been praying to him as well, and…honestly, he thinks that you blame him, or something like that.”

“Blame him?” she repeated.  “For what?”

“I…I don’t know exactly.  But he’s hesitant about coming in here,” Sam said.

“Look,” Bobby cut in, “why don’t you get some rest, and I can talk to him about it.  Okay?”

She was still conflicted, but Bobby’s expression didn’t leave much room for argument.  “Fine.  Just…make sure he’s okay.”

Bobby gave her a reassuring smile and nod, before he ushered the boys out of the room.  It took a good deal of bickering for her brothers to finally leave, but in a few moments she was alone.  She fluttered her wings beneath the covers, getting more comfortable as the energy drain of managing the conversation had her eyelids drooping.  Eyes flickering closed, she fell asleep while still attempting to wrap her mind around the fact that Gabriel had returned. 


	3. Chapter 3

Before her mind had the chance to catch up the next morning, she pulled her arms above her head, and her wings stretched out beneath her past the edges of the bed.  She didn’t realize until a moment later that she was supposed to be in excruciating pain.  Her hand dipped beneath the sheets to gently prod at her stab wound, only to find that there was a minimal amount to pain. 

Pulling her wings into her back, she slowly sat up, closing her eyes at the sudden dizziness.  When her head had cleared, she noticed that the pile of glass by the door was gone, and the room was empty.  Her legs swung over the side of the bed, slipping from beneath the covers, and she noticed that the brace on her knee was gone. 

She quickly drank the new, full glass of water that someone had left her, intending to go find her brothers.  However, as soon as the stench of her breath bounced back at her from the surface of the glass, she decided that her hygiene was slightly more urgent.  Her legs were shaky as she moved to stand, her muscles having gone without use for three days.  Or was it four now?  The light outside had dimmed considerably from before, so it was either early morning or late afternoon. 

Pushing off the bed, she wobbled dangerously on her feet before managing to find her balance and shuffle to the bathroom.  The harsh overhead light blinded her for a second until she was able to adjust, her knuckles white as she grasped tightly at the countertop for support.  Her hands shook slightly as she moved grab a toothbrush.

The normal rituals of the everyday activity instilled a sort of calm in her chest, and she found herself brushing her teeth multiple times.  Soon enough, the running water against her back also proved to be therapeutic, and she could feel herself relaxing as the steam filled her lungs. 

“Em?” Dean’s voice was slightly panicked on the other side of the door.  “You okay?”

“I’m good,” she said, only just loud enough for him to hear.  “What time is it?”

“Five thirty.  I think they’re working on making you something for dinner.  How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good, actually.  Better,” she answered honestly, rubbing an ample amount of shampoo into her scalp. 

“Good,” Dean seemed slightly surprised.  “Great.  I’ll, uh…yell if you need me then.”

“Okay.  Thanks, Dean.”  He hesitated, deciding not to respond. 

She was out of the shower twenty minutes later, stepping heavily onto the towel, her weak knees threatening to buckle.  The feeling of a fresh pair of jeans was comforting, and she found herself brushing her teeth once more before finally feeling comfortable in her skin again. Staring into the mirror, she could see the tight, pink skin stretched in a line across her abdomen.  It struck her how small and innocent the scar looked, yet the wound had almost killed her. 

Instead of letting herself linger on the thought, she pulled one of Dean’s old Zeppelin T-shirts over her head and smoothed her damp hair back.  The carpet was rough under her feet as she padded to the bedroom door.

Sam was in the center of the kitchen when she entered, Gabriel by his side, stirring something on the stove, the scent of smoky spices.  Their backs were to her, and Dean was arguing with them from across the room.  She never really noticed before, but there was a stark difference in Sam and Gabriel’s heights.  Sam had at least a good six inches on her angel. 

“What the hell is wrong with Mac-and-Cheese?”  Dean was sprawled across the couch, his leg propped up on the armrest, even though the cast had been destroyed in the fight.  It only struck her now as she looked around that they were in Gabriel’s ranch in northern Montana, probably a few hours from Rufus’s cabin. 

“She needs food to heal.”  Gabriel’s voice was the same as it had sounded in her head but more realistic, and she suddenly found that she could quite breathe properly.  Before Dean could shoot off a sarcastic remark, Gabriel continued, “And, as much as I hate to say it, good ol’ Mac-and-Cheese isn’t nutritious enough.”

“As much I hate to admit it, he’s right Dean,” Sam turned around to face his brother.  Catching Emily’s figure in his peripheral, his head shot up to meet her gaze.  “Em.”

“Hey, Sam.”  Her voice was quiet as she gave him a small smile. 

Gabriel spun around, wooden spoon still in his hand, bits, of rice clinging to it.  God help her, he looked exactly the same from when she last saw him, down to the small grease stain on the pocket of his jacket from when they had tried cooking their own French fries.  Then she saw his eyes. 

They were more sunken in, like Dean’s.  The playful gleam they always held had dimmed, and for once he looked as old as he actually was. 

“Hi,” she swallowed, staring up at him. 

“Hey.”  His voice was quiet when he answered her, and the spoon fell slightly as he smiled tentatively. 

The pause that followed was comfortable, like she had finally come home.  Sam and Dean, however, glanced nervously from one person to the other, unsure of how to proceed.  “T-thank you,” Emily began quietly, glancing down at the floor, “for fixing me up…a-and getting there when you did.”

Her eyes flashed to his again, waiting desperately for him to answer, as if his words could be anything but kind.  His smile grew more confident, and the spoon dropped to his side as he relaxed.  “I missed you.”

She gave a quiet, breathy laugh, relieved at his words.  “Me too.”

“You should sit down.  It’s almost done,” he told her softly.  Her eyes flickered down to the large pan on the stove, and he was quick to answer her unspoken question.  “Paella.  The recipe you like, strait from Valencia.”  He couldn’t help the hint of pride in his voice. 

She beamed up at him, unable to control the way her stomach jumped at his words.  The small kitchen table was fairly close, and, as she moved forward, Sam helped her to sit on one of the stools, still clearly nervous over her wound.  As she got comfortable, Dean limped into the kitchen to lean against the counter.  “Where’s Bobby?” she asked. 

“Milk run,” Sam explained, carefully sliding a glass of water on the table and taking the seat beside her. 

While she was distracted with Sam, Gabriel placed a large, ceramic bowl in front of her, spoon resting on the side.  Her gaze flickered up to meet his.  “Thank you.” 

Gabriel sank down into the seat opposite Sam, watching as she practically inhaled the dish of rice.  “God, I missed your cooking,” she muttered through a mouthful. 

“I can see that,” he smirked.  He hesitated, “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she nodded.  “Better.  Not dead.”  Dean scoffed, and she looked up at him.  “What?”

“Nothing.”  It came out more defensive than he would have liked. 

“’Nothing’?” she repeated skeptically.  “Dean, I swear I’m fine.  What ‘s going on?”

“I…” Sam shot him a look from across the table, and Dean immediately quieted, shifting his weight.  “Nothing.” 

Gabriel cleared his throat, glancing between the people in front of him.  “Dean and I have been…” he began carefully, “ _disagreeing_ on some things.”

Emily turned her gaze on her brother.  “Dean?”

“Look, I just,” he broke off, trying to ignore Sam’s stare as he sighed.  “It just sort of pisses me off that he’s been gone for a year, claiming that God wouldn’t let him see you, and now he thinks he can just waltz in here, make you fancy food, and everything’s gonna be fine,” he said, steadily becoming angrier.  “He has no friggin’ idea what you went through.”

She swallowed, staring down at the empty bowl before her, unsure of how to respond.  “Em,” Gabriel began quietly.  “Why don’t we go take a walk, get you some vitamin D, and I can explain everything.”

The nod came naturally, and she stood up, following him to the door.  “Em–”

She looked over at Dean, letting Gabriel step out of the house first.  “I just got him back,” she shook her head gently, her eyes conveying the pain she felt.  “Please, Dean.  At least give him a chance.”

Dean set his jaw, staring down at the floor.  She stepped outside, letting the screen door close behind her. 


End file.
